


We Couldn't Want It Any More

by Leslie_Knope



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - NHL, Banter, Fluff, Getting Together, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mutual Pining, NHL Nursey, nhl dex, no real hockey players
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-07
Updated: 2017-06-07
Packaged: 2018-11-10 01:01:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11116611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leslie_Knope/pseuds/Leslie_Knope
Summary: That feeling when someone gets unexpectedly traded to your team, someone with whom you have a very complicated history.Or: one long, stressful day in the life of poor Will Poindexter.





	We Couldn't Want It Any More

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from the song ["Legendary"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o5jlLJa2Zhs) by Welshly Arms.
> 
> And I’ve seen several people use the name Farah for Nursey’s sister, so I’m shamelessly borrowing your headcanons. ♥ ♥

On Wednesday morning, Dex’s alarm goes off at the usual time. He has different times for different scenarios—travel day, off day, off _season_ —but today’s a game day. He goes for a short little run, along the same route through the Common and by the Charles, and drinks the same smoothie on his walk over to TD Garden. He’s not superstitious or anything, not really, he just likes routine, okay? He likes knowing what to expect.

Which is precisely why he freezes in place when he nears the locker room and sees a very certain someone at the end of the hall, talking to their coach. As his world crashes down around his ears, Dex fumbles for the wall for balance. Holy fucking shit, why is _he_ here?

To avoid being seen, and in an embarrassing bout of cowardice, Dex ducks in to the little alcove where they keep extra towels. He generously allows himself about 60 seconds of a truly epic mental freak-out, then checks to make sure the coast is clear and races across the hallway, into the locker room. He makes a beeline for Bitty, who’s thankfully already there and talking with Chowder in the corner.

“Dex! Hi.”

“What the fuck is Derek Nurse doing here?” he hisses, ignoring any and all customary greetings, and Bitty gives him a weird look.

“Seriously? Did you not look at the news this morning? He got traded overnight.”

“Shit,” Dex says under his breath. He slumps against the wall, scrubbing both hands over his face. How could this be happening? He knows that the trade deadline is today, obviously, but since he has a no-trade clause and also hadn’t heard any rumblings about the Bruins making any moves, he’s barely spared it a second thought. Clearly, that was a mistake.

“I’m so excited,” Chowder says, practically bouncing in place. “He’s so good, it’s gonna be so nice _not_ to play against him anymore. And he’ll probably be your partner, Dex!”

“Probably,” he says weakly, still in a bit of a daze. He’s _got_ to pull it together, though, because it’s not like he can explain to anyone why he’s so upset that their team just got better.

“Jack must be sad,” Chowder whispers, and Dex lets himself crack a smile at that, especially when Bitty blushes. Only a very, very small number of people know that the Bruins’ star forward has been in a relationship for the past three years with the captain of the Habs, and ergo, chirping opportunities are slim.

“Yeah,” Dex adds, elbowing Bitty in the arm. “How ever will you manage to cheer him up?”

“Oh, hush, you two,” Bitty says. He covers his face for a second with a towel, clearly hiding a smile, then shakes his head. “Anyway. Derek is a great player. The Habs’ loss is our gain.”

“He seems nice, too, but I’ve never talked to him. Have you, Dex?”

“Yeah.” He sighs, pushing off the wall and squeezing past Chowder to reach his own locker. “I’ve met him.”

* * *

_12 months ago_

“Hey, who’s that guy over there?” Dex asked, with a tiny jerk of his chin. “Talking to Jack.”

Leaning on his stick, Bitty followed his gaze to the other bench. “28? That’s Derek Nurse, their new d-man. He got called up since we played them last, and he’s supposed to be really good. Jack’s excited about it.”

“Hmm.”

Bitty’s smile turned into more of a smirk. “He’s cute, huh?”

“Shut up,” he muttered, and Bitty laughed.

“You should see him _without_ a helmet on.”

With a groan, Dex skated away.

He was happily bisexual, okay? (Not _openly_ , though—no one had done that yet in the NHL.) And as a happily bisexual person, he could admit that Derek Nurse was not _cute_ , Derek Nurse was fucking hot.

Dex kept an eye on him during the game, both while they were on the ice and off. For purely professional purposes, of course, in exactly the same way that he would evaluate any other player. Or so he told himself.

And Nurse _was_ pretty good, just like Bitty had said—fast, strong skater with nice passes and a powerful shot. Dex roughed him up a tiny bit, just to test his reaction, but Nurse stayed calm and even got the puck away from him when they scuffled. He was about the same size as Dex, and they were well-matched.

After the game, which the Bruins took by one, Dex even went over to give him a little nudge in the shoulder and tell him good game. He didn’t let Nurse say anything in return, and as he skated away, he was pretty sure Nurse was watching him. The feeling made his skin prickle, which he tried to ignore.

Dex was going to hate playing against him, for how often they played the Habs, but he probably wouldn’t mind the eye candy.

* * *

_Just relax_ , Dex tells himself, staring firmly at the back of his locker and letting his eyes drift along the photos he has taped there. _Calm down, act normal_.

Holster is taking Nurse around the locker room, introducing him to everyone, and from what Dex can hear, they’re about two lockers away from his.

“And here’s your new d-man partner!” Holster’s voice is cheery, and before he turns around, Dex reminds himself that this is a very good thing for the team. “Derek, meet Will Poindexter.”

Dex takes a breath as he turns to face them, and yep, wow, holy shit, Nurse is even more attractive than he remembered. He’s bigger now, Dex is pretty sure, and his shoulders are straining the seams of his shiny new Bruins shirt.

“Dex,” he says, offering his hand. Nurse has the audacity to smirk at him, all smug and self-assured and attractive, and Dex kinda wants to punch him in his pretty face.

“You can call me Nursey,” he says, and the motherfucker actually _winks_ at him.

Dex’s jaw tightens.

_Relax, relax. Be a professional._

“Looking forward to playing with you,” he says honestly, and Nurse’s smirk shifts into something a little more genuine.

“Likewise.”

Nurse finally drops his hand, and Dex tries to remember what normal, relaxed people do with their arms.

“And next is Bitty! You need to be sure to stay on his good side, bro.”

Nurse pulls his gaze from Dex to follow Holster, whose voice fades out as Dex exhales. He can handle this. It’s fine.

He goes about his pre-game routine as closely as he can, with the added complication of avoiding Nurse as much as possible without it seeming suspicious. Every time he looks at Nurse, he feels this weird mix of embarrassment and arousal, which is a combination that he thought he left behind around the age of 18.

But he is a _professional_ , which means he’s about 70 percent successful at repressing it all.

The crowd roars when Dex skates out, and he lifts a hand to acknowledge it. They like him a lot in Boston. They like that he’s a local ( _ish_ —in their eyes, Maine counts), and they _really_ like that he doesn’t hesitate to drop his gloves if the situation calls for it.

Dex wonders if they’d like him as much if they knew that nearly all his fights were instigated by someone being mean to Bitty. Because the way Dex sees it, they all have their strengths. Bitty is the fastest skater Dex has ever seen, and the way he can see plays unfold before him is almost clairvoyant. He’s not that big, though, and he hates fighting.

Dex has no such problems.

But the fans really love Bitty, too, and now they also seem to like Nurse, if the rumble of applause that he gets is any indication.

Dex would be lying if he said he wasn’t nervous about playing with Nurse, but he tries to tell himself that it’s normal, that he’d be equally nervous about playing with any new teammate. They probably aren’t going to play very many minutes together, anyway, just a few with some basic plays that they quickly hashed out before the game.

Except…

The puck drops, and it’s kind of magic.

Dex has no recollection of ever clicking with someone so rapidly and so seamlessly on the ice. He can just _feel_ exactly where Nurse is and where he’s going to go, and it must be mutual because near the end of the first period, Nurse sends a blind pass to Dex, who fires a shot that goes in.

“Fuck yeah, bro! That was sick.” Nursey crashes into him from the side, yelling at the top of his lungs, and Dex laughs as he clutches his arm to stay upright.

“We’ll get you one, too,” he says, tapping him on the helmet before he skates back to the bench.

And they _do_ , miraculously, about halfway through the third period, when Dex feeds Nursey the puck, and he beautifully sneaks it past the goalie.

The crowd is going crazy now, clearly pleased with their new defense pairing. They win 3-0, all thanks to Chowder, and the energy thrumming through the team as they tromp off the ice is close to the highest that Dex has ever felt it.

But as everyone is busy filing into the locker room, Nursey grabs Dex’s arm to hold him back and promptly brings him crashing back down to earth.

“So. Are we just never gonna talk about what happened?”

Dex grits his teeth. They just won a game, and they’re standing in a fucking public hallway. That’s empty at the moment, sure, but _still_.

“Seriously? Now? You wanna do this right now, right here?”

“I mean, I just…”

Nursey trails off, shrugging his shoulders. To anyone else it would look casual, but _Dex_ can pick out that it’s not, and that just makes him angrier.

“Is it _really_ necessary?” he hisses, embarrassed by the flush he knows is on his cheeks. “We clearly do just fine playing together, and after getting my pride stomped on by you once already, I honestly see no point in rehashing any of that experience. Jesus, I’m not a masochist.”

Nursey’s brow furrows, and his mouth gapes for a second before he shakes his head and leans closer. “Wait…what? I don’t—”

Someone pokes their head out of the locker room then, gesturing at them. “Let’s go. You’re very popular with the press tonight, boys, everyone wants to talk to you.”

Dex brushes past Nursey, shaking his head. He takes the time to address every single question from anyone who asks, offering multi-sentence answers and even dealing with follow-up questions. He’s never quite so patient about the whole media thing, but it means that by the time he’s finally done, he has the showers to himself.

He’s half-heartedly hoping that Nursey will be done and gone by the time he’s out, but when he gets back his locker, Nursey’s talking with Chowder and Bitty nearby.

“Yeah, it was nuts,” he’s saying as Dex walks up. “We were on a road trip, I got woken up by my agent calling, and then next thing I know, I’m saying bye to guys in the lobby and getting on a plane. All I have is this suitcase, and I basically have no clean clothes left.”

“Heavens, that sounds stressful,” Bitty says, shaking his head. “You poor thing.”

Dex takes a deep breath. _Treat him like any other teammate. The two of you are gonna have to learn how to get along._

“You can crash at my place if you want,” he offers, and Nursey’s head snaps over to him. “I live nearby, I have a guest room. You could—do laundry or whatever.”

“Really?” Nursey asks, his eyes wide. “Dude, that would be awesome, thanks.”

Dex offers him a tight smile and turns back to his locker. Wow, he is such an _idiot_.

* * *

_10 months ago_

Dex fought his way through the crowd toward the bar, pulling the brim of his hat down lower over his eyes. A lot of people still recognized him, he was pretty sure—the red hair was fairly distinctive, and their gazes lingered on his back—but the hat must’ve been a good enough signal that he wanted to be left alone because no one had approached him yet.

He finally found a modicum of space and stepped up into it, leaning over the bar to look for the bartender. Someone bumped up against his shoulder, someone as big as him, and Dex silently cursed his sister for picking such a popular bar.

“Hey. Poindexter.”

He twisted, prepared for a quick conversation with a fan, then nearly swallowed his tongue when he saw who was standing there next to him. “Oh—hey. Nurse, right?” he asked, as if he didn’t know. The Bruins had played the Habs a couple more times since that first time he met Nurse, and even though the two of them had never talked, he knew they both kept an eye on each other.

“You can call me Nursey,” he said as he extended his hand.

Dex shook it, a little awkwardly since they were pressed so closely together. Nursey’s hand was warm, and he dropped it before he could get any ideas. “Dex.” He stood up straighter. “What’re you doing in town?”

“Just visiting for a few days, my sister lives here. She kindly _requested_ that I go get the drinks.”

Dex snorted. “Must be brother-sister night. My sister’s over there, and she sent me on the same errand.”

“It’s like they think we’re good at pushing people or something,” Nursey said, and Dex laughed.

“You are pretty good at that.”

“Not as good as you.”

Nursey’s eyes were a sharp green, focused right on him, and Dex swallowed. “Not good enough, apparently,” he said, gesturing at the crush of people around the bar. The crowd continued to flow around them, but neither of them made a move to actually get the bartender’s attention. Nursey was just so incredibly handsome, with those cheekbones and that jawline, and it was taking basically everything Dex had not to stare at him, slack-jawed.

“I’ve heard a lot about you, you know,” Nursey said casually, and Dex eyed him.

“From who?” He ran through the Habs roster in his head and guessed Ransom, since they played together at Samwell. “Rans?”

Nursey nodded. “And Jack.”

“Jack,” Dex repeated, surprised. He and Jack were actually pretty good friends—through Bitty, of course—but since there was no other obvious reason for them to be, it wasn’t exactly something that they advertised. “And what did Jack tell you?”

“He told me you were his favorite defenseman in the league. Said I could do a lot worse than looking up to you, on the ice and off.”

“Wow.” That was…actually a really nice compliment. He made a mental note to text Jack and tell him that. “Well, you don’t seem to need any inspiration. You’re really good.”

“I’ve noticed you. Watching.”

Dex snorted. “Have to keep an eye on my competition.”

“Competition for getting drinks, apparently,” he said, laughing when Dex shouldered him gently into the wall.

Once they finally had beers in their hands, Dex angled his head. “You guys wanna join us?” he asked. Nursey nodded, one corner of his mouth quirked up in a little smile, and Dex really didn’t want to investigate the wave of relief that came over him.

His sister had successfully held onto their table near the door, and she looked up with a frown when Nursey walked up next to Dex. “Who are you? You look familiar.”

“Derek Nurse,” Dex said, touching his arm in a way that he hoped look casual. “He plays for the Habs. Nursey, this is Lisa.”

“The Habs suck,” she said automatically, and god, Dex loved her. Nursey just laughed.

“Well, I think the Bruins suck,” he retorted. “You think there’s any way we can put our differences aside for one drink?”

Lisa looked at him, her head tilted, and Dex was suddenly doubting the merits of this plan.

“Fine, you’re cute, sit down,” she said finally.

Dex rolled his eyes but gestured at one of the empty chairs. Nursey’s sister Farah joined them after a minute, and Dex could have _sworn_ that her eyes lit up with recognition when Nursey introduced them. He liked her for many reasons, not limited to the fact that she seemed to enjoy ruffling Nursey’s hair and making him blush. She left after only one drink, though, and Lisa stood up from their table after the next one.

Dex walked her the few steps to the door, but she stopped him when he tried to lean down and hug her.

“You totally need to tap that.”

“Lisa,” he hissed, flushing. “Jesus, be quiet.”

“He wants you.”

Dex grimaced. As if he could ever be so lucky. “He most certainly does not.”

Lisa leaned around him to wave goodbye to Nursey again. “He’s looking at your ass,” she said under her breath. “I mean, most people are, probably, because it looks really good in those jeans. But he’s _really_ staring at it, like he wants to—”

“Okay.” He cut her off, setting both hands on her shoulders and turning her around. “You need to go now. Do you need me to call you an Uber?”

“No, _little_ bro,” she said, putting emphasis on the word like she always did when she thought he was being overbearing. “I’m fine. Text me later and tell me all the details.”

“Fine,” he acquiesced, knowing that he would most definitely _not_ be doing that. She left, finally, and Dex made his way back to their table.

“Are you leaving, too?” Nursey asked, firmly sprawled out in his chair. Dex shrugged, and after a brief moment of internal debate, sat down in the chair next to Nursey instead of the one across the table he’d occupied before. He fiddled with his empty bottle.

“Nah, I’m good. You?”

“Nope.” He took the last swig of his drink and then leaned his elbow on the table, twisting to face Dex more fully. “So I just don’t get it.”

“Don’t get what?”

“You fight a lot, right?” he asked, seemingly a non-sequitur, and Dex shrugged.

“Not really. Only when necessary.” Only when someone called Bitty a fag too far away for the refs to hear.

Nursey hummed. “But your face is like, perfect. It just doesn’t make any sense.” He leaned closer, and Dex’s cheeks flushed so hard he was pretty sure they were _glowing_ , even in the low light of the bar.

“Because I win my fights,” he managed to say, and man, Nursey’s laugh was a thing of beauty. Especially when Dex was the one who caused it. “And come on, you’re one to talk.”

Well, shit.

 _That_ part slipped out without his brain’s permission, and Dex really didn’t think it was possible for him to get any redder.

Nursey didn’t call him out on it, though, just let his face settle into a soft smile. “C’mon.” He stood up and cupped Dex’s elbow in one big hand, tugging. “Lemme buy you a drink.”

They wormed through the crowd at the bar again, even thicker now, and Nursey’s hand never left Dex, moving from his elbow to his back to his hip. Dex fixated on that point of contact, almost obsessively so, and thankfully, Nursey was the one who flashed a grin at the bartender and took care of ordering their drinks.

They found a smaller table, one of a cluster near the back of the bar that had high sides all around and was a lot more private than their other one had been. Dex slid into one side of the small booth and then gulped as Nursey followed him instead of sitting on the other side.

He knew this wasn’t a date—he _knew_ it, okay, he wasn’t an idiot—but it actually really felt like one. These booths were small, clearly meant for a cozy couple, and since he and Nursey were both on the larger side, they were definitely squeezed in, touching from shoulder to ankle.

Dex was worried that it’d be awkward, that they’d crossed some kind of invisible line with the touching and the smiling, but it wasn’t at all. Nursey was funny and charming, and unbelievably, he also seemed to find _Dex_ funny and charming.

Neither of them could resist talking a little about hockey and the playoffs—the Habs had lost in the first round, the Bruins in the second—but they quickly veered into other topics. Dex told Nursey all about growing up in a stiflingly small town, adjusting to the different lifestyle of a liberal arts college like Samwell, dealing with the weirdness of being basically the only person from his hometown with money now.

In turn, Nursey talked about his years at boarding school and how he really had no choice about going to Dartmouth, as a double legacy. How much pressure he faced from his parents, how much they _didn’t_ want him to actually pursue his dream of being a hockey player.

“I mean, they’re proud, I think,” Nursey allowed, tracing his finger through the condensation on the table. “But I know they wish I were doing something _intellectual_ , something they could brag about to their friends. But whatever, it’s chill.”

“ _Chill_ ,” Dex mocked, and Nursey threw a soggy coaster at him. He was smiling now, though, and had lost that faintly sad look.

“Don’t you mock me. That’s lazy chirping.”

“I mean, not all of us can be poetry majors,” he said, grinning, and Nursey kicked him in the shin. Dex kicked back, but then they were pretty much just playing footsie.

“Oh my god, you dick,” Nursey said, but he was laughing, too. “You have no idea how much shit I get for that.”

“No, it’s cool, really. That sounds really hard, I never could’ve done it.”

Nursey hummed and took a sip from their mostly-forgotten beers. “And let me guess, were you a phys ed major or something?”

“ _No_ , fuck you very much,” he said indignantly. “I was a comp sci major. Finished my degree and everything.”

“Shit, really?” Nursey asked, and Dex nodded.

“Gotta have a back-up plan, you know.”

Looking sufficiently impressed, Nursey gave Dex one more friendly nudge in the shin before he shifted away. “Be right back.”

He turned around the corner that led to the bathrooms, and Dex exhaled, rolling his neck on his shoulders. This was weird, right? He was pretty sure that they were skirting the line of a normal _bros out for drinks_ type of situation, but he had no idea what to do with that information.

And after three-ish beers, he was a little buzzed but certainly not drunk—not drunk enough to make a stupid, impulsive decision anyway. Any decision that he’d be making would be with his full faculties, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

Nursey came back around the corner, and embarrassingly, Dex’s breath caught in his throat. He was just _so_ attractive, it wasn’t at all fair. How was anyone supposed to deal with that?

Something must have shown on his face because Nursey’s mouth quirked into a little grin and he didn’t even hesitate, just slid back into the booth and plastered his lips against Dex’s, pressing him back against the wall.

Dex inhaled in surprise but brought both hands right up to Nursey’s shoulders, holding him in place just in case he got any wild ideas about moving. His mouth was hot and eager, and Dex tried to keep up, even though his head was spinning. This was even better than he’d imagined, which he could now safely admit had been happening on the regular in the couple months since he first saw Nursey.

It was so much better in real life, though, when he could slide his hand in Nursey’s hair and just hold him there while they tested out different angles. The suppressed strength in Nursey’s arms was tantalizing, and Dex was dealing in superhero-levels of restraint not to pull Nursey into his lap, tiny booth be damned.

Nursey moaned a little, his hand tight on Dex’s thigh, and while the noise sent a line of heat straight to Dex’s dick, it also flipped the alarm bell in his head. Their booth was pretty private, but anyone could come around that back corner and see them.

Moving his hand to Nursey’s chest and pushing him away was one of the hardest things Dex had to do in recent memory. “We can’t do this here,” he whispered, his voice breaking a little.

Nursey blinked at him, his eyes hazy with lust, and then in an instant, his face shuttered. Before Dex could say anything or even move, Nursey was scrambling backward out of the booth like his ass was on fire and taking off toward the door.

Dex gaped after him, his brain whirling with the emotional whiplash of the last 30 seconds. What—what had just happened? _Oh, god_ , he thought, absent-mindedly touching his lips. Well, running away in disgust was a pretty clear sign.

With the sting of rejection sharp in his chest, he gritted his teeth and waited for the worst of it to pass. It didn’t, at least not right away, so he squeezed his eyes shut before an embarrassing tear could slip out.

He considered going back up to the bar for a few more drinks and getting _really_ drunk in order to truly repress this whole evening, but the thought of his scheduled workout with Bitty in the morning made his responsible side shine through. He ran a hand through his hair, still mostly in shock, and patted his pockets on autopilot to make sure he had his phone and his wallet.

As he started to get up, right there next to him in the booth was the plain green hat Nursey had been wearing, probably from Dartmouth. Dex stared at it, contemplating, but finally grabbed it with a huff before sliding out of the booth and trudging home.

* * *

By the time Dex is ready to go, Nursey is already standing by the door, scrolling through his phone. He brushes past him without stopping. “I usually walk home, that okay?”

“Walking’s fine.” Nursey drifts after him, hoisting his duffel over his shoulder. “Do people not bother you?”

Dex shrugs. “I don’t do it after like, a day game. But if it’s late on a weeknight, usually no one stops me,” he says. It’s a cool night, Boston still clinging stubbornly to winter, and Dex relishes the sharp breeze against the back of his neck. “You hungry?”

“Always.”

Dex nods and leads them to Anna’s, where they get chicken burritos the size of their heads. He winds his way through the streets of Beacon Hill to his apartment, carefully avoiding the block with that infamous bar from 10 months ago. If Nursey notices, he doesn’t comment on it.

“Mr. Dex!”

“Hey, Tony, what’s up?” he says, fist-bumping his building’s doorman like he always does.

“Good game tonight.” He peers a little closer at Nursey. “You, too, Mr. Nurse. Welcome to Boston.”

Nursey laughs and leans in for a fist bump of his own. “Thanks, man.”

Dex opts for the stairs, like usual, and takes the lead so he’s not at all tempted to stare at Nursey’s ass. He unlocks the door and holds it open for Nursey with an exaggerated gesture.

“This is a nice place.” Nursey slips his shoes off at the door and pokes around the kitchen, circling the island. “Thought it’d be bigger, though, with that nice contract you just signed.”

Dex rolls his eyes. It will never not be weird that everyone knows how much money he makes. “Real estate here is insane. This place was plenty expensive.”

He loves his apartment. It’s close to the arena, and he has a great view. Plus, it’s not like he needs _that_ much space. Two guest rooms for when his family comes to visit, and he’s all set.

“First door on the left,” he says, nodding to the hallway off the living room. “Laundry’s across the hall.”

“Awesome, thanks.”

Dex clicks on the TV, still on ESPN from the night before, and settles in the armchair, leaving the whole couch for Nursey. He’s starving and has wolfed down half his burrito by the time Nursey comes back, dressed in just a Habs t-shirt and a pair of worn plaid pajama pants.

“Aw, you didn’t wait for me?”

“Nope,” Dex says, his mouth full. “Don’t spill on my couch. Also, what the _fuck_ are you wearing?”

Nursey rolls his eyes as he slides from the couch to the floor, eating over the coffee table. “I seriously have like, no clothes left. So it was either this or no shirt at all.”

Dex decidedly keeps his opinion about _that_ to himself and just hums. They both finish their dinner in silence, watching idly as the new hour of SportsCenter starts. It always takes him a little while to wind down from games, and it seems like Nursey shares the same trait.

Out of the corner of his eye, Dex spots Nursey running a hand through his hair. It triggers a memory, just like basically everything else Nursey does, and he sighs as he stands, heading for his closet. He’d like to pretend that he doesn’t know where it is, but of course he does.

“Hey,” he calls out from the doorway, and Nursey looks up just in time to catch what Dex throws at him.

“My hat!” he says delightedly, curving his hand around the brim and immediately putting it on his head. “This is my favorite one, I was really sad I lost it. I can't believe you kept it.”

“Yeah, well, apparently I _am_ a masochist.” He knocks the hat off Nursey’s head as he sits down next to him on the couch, leaving almost a full cushion between them.

SportsCenter’s showing the highlights from their game now, which is always weird. Dex watches himself score, watches Nursey wrap arms around him, and bites his lip. The show moves onto the next game, and after a minute, Nursey’s the first one to break the silence.

“We’re really never gonna talk about it?”

Jesus Christ. _Just_ when Dex thought they might be able to escape this relatively unscathed.

He gets up from the couch a little more violently than is necessary. “There’s no need to rub it in, okay? I get it.”

“Get _what_?”

Nursey stands, too, and Dex takes a step back, putting the coffee table in between them. “I _get_ that you thought it was a mistake, or whatever, and you totally rejected me. Why do we have to talk about this again?”

“What?” Nursey’s hands are spread, and he seems genuinely confused. “I don’t think that at all. You were the one who said _we can’t do this_. That’s a pretty fucking clear sign, Dex.”

Dex gapes at him for a second and then sinks down onto the corner of the coffee table, bracing his elbows on his knees and holding his head in his hands. “Oh my god. You are such an idiot.”

“What?” Nursey snaps. “That’s what you said, I remember it _very_ clearly.”

“No, I didn’t, you dickbag,” he hisses, dropping his hands. “I said ‘we can’t do this _here_ ,’ because we were in a fucking public place. I was gonna—”

He pauses, swallowing, and Nursey fidgets where now he’s leaning against the wall, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his shorts. “You were gonna what?”

“I was gonna ask you to come back to my apartment.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, _oh_.”

“I woulda said yes,” he offers, and Dex rolls his eyes.

“Well, that’s not very helpful _now_ , now is it?”

It’s silent between them for a minute as Dex lets his hands dangle between his knees and tries not to think about having sex with Nursey. It doesn’t go very well.

“I thought if you ever changed your mind or something,” Nursey says, his voice quiet, “you’d call. Which you never did.”

Dex throws up his hands. “With what number?”

“Oh, come on.” He scoffs. “With all the mutual friends we have, you couldn’t get my number?”

“Why would I track down your number just to call a guy who literally ran away from me? I don’t _crave_ rejection, believe it or not.” That comes out louder than he intended, and he deflates with a sigh, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry. I should’ve—tried to figure out what happened. I was, uh, embarrassed, I guess. You clearly weren’t interested.”

“I’m very interested,” Nursey shoots back. They both freeze, and for the first time, Nursey looks a little off-balance, like he maybe didn’t mean to say that.

Because that…that was definitely present tense.

Dex exhales again and stares down at the swirling pattern on his tasteful area rug. Is this a terrible idea?

Derek Nurse has been the _bane_ of Dex’s existence for the past year. It’s been an entire fucking year, and he has yet to be able to go on a date or even hook up with anyone. And that’s a long time, okay? All because he’s been so stupidly, ridiculously fixated on _one_ kiss and _one_ date…like…thing. Seriously? What the fuck does that even mean?

That he’s fucked in the head, clearly.

But overall, Dex is pretty _disciplined_. He works hard, he eats right, and he’s always been rational above all else. Though, when the man of his literal dreams is standing in his goddamn living room, admitting that he might have feelings, too…

Well, Dex is no saint.

“Dex? Hello?”

“Huh?” he says, blinking, and Nursey’s got that soft smile on.

“You zoned out there for a minute. I—”

“Shut up.” He stands fast enough that he gets a little head rush and circles around the back of the couch as Nursey squares his shoulders, pushing off the wall. “I don’t—I don’t want any more misunderstandings.”

As soon as he’s a couple feet away, Nursey snags the hem of his shirt and tugs him closer. “I want you. Is that clear enough?”

Dex is the one who initiates the kiss this time, falling into Nursey and letting one forearm brace against the wall. The noise Nursey lets out sounds punched out of him, and the sheer desperation of it makes Dex frantic, scrambling to get closer. They’re clutching at each other, pressed together from chest to knees, fruitlessly attempting to occupy the same space.

The kiss morphs from heated to languid and back again, and Dex can’t help but compare it to the last one. Nursey has a heavy layer of stubble now, and it rasps against Dex’s, sparser but still there since he hasn’t shaved for about three days.

“How…”

Nursey trails off, kissing him again, and Dex greedily presses into him for a minute before pulling away. He wants to hear everything Nursey has to say.

“How what?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you how much I’ve thought about this.”

“Oh, I would,” Dex interrupts. “I promise.”

Nursey laughs, his hand curling around Dex’s ribs. “I was sure I’d built it up in my head, I don’t understand how it’s better.”

“Yeah,” he breathes, wishing he had something more eloquent to say. He’s never felt off-balance from just kissing someone, and now that he’s _actually kissing Nursey_ , he has no idea what to do.

“Not to be, like, forward or anything,” Nursey says, nosing under Dex’s jaw. “But my legs are kinda tired.”

“Thought you were a professional athlete.”

Nursey groans and scrapes his teeth briefly against Dex’s neck. “Oh, I see how it’s gonna be. Chirp, chirp, chirp.”

“Bed or couch?”

“What would you say if I picked bed?”

“I would say come on.”

Nursey laughs and steps forward, pushing Dex with him. “We did have our first date 10 months ago. This is a very slow-moving relationship.”

 _He called it a relationship_ , Dex thinks, his inner voice embarrassingly giddy. “What if I don’t put out til the third date?”

“Then I really, really hope you think those burritos count as a date. And the game. I hugged you, that counts.”

Dex pretends to think about it as they move slowly back toward his bedroom, bouncing occasionally off walls and various pieces of furniture. Nursey is surprisingly clumsy, and with their limbs variously intertwined, more than once Dex has to keep them from falling down.

“How do you make it through a day without hurting yourself?”

“I rely on the help of cute redheaded defensemen.”

Dex frowns and then kisses the smile off Nursey’s face as he laughs. “That doesn’t seem like a wise strategy. How many of us are there?”

“Just one,” Nursey says softly, and that affects Dex probably more than it should.

“Just—just take off this fucking shirt.” Dex steps back just far enough to yank it up off of him and toss it to the floor. Nursey returns the favor and then presses close again, skin against skin.

“I’m surprised you didn’t rip it, _accidentally_.”

Dex laughs, a quick burst of a thing that gets quickly swallowed by Nursey’s mouth. “Wanted to,” he admits, letting his hands drift up Nursey’s chest.

They’ve made it to the bedroom by now, and Nursey grins when his legs bump into the bed. “You make your bed? That’s adorable.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being neat,” Dex protests, but Nursey kisses the words right out of his mouth. Determined, he keeps talking anyway. “It looks nicer. And it’s more _inviting_ to get in at night.”

“Well, I feel very invited.” Nursey carefully folds back the sheets before he climbs under them, wiggling. Dex rolls his eyes but smiles as he follows him.

“You are ridiculous,” he mutters, though it comes out sounding impossibly fond. Nursey smiles and wraps a warm hand around the nape of his neck, drawing him into another kiss.

“So I’m just curious—are you gonna have an embarrassing reaction if I call you by your first name?”

Dex chokes out another laugh. “Probably,” he admits, and Nursey hums.

“Will.” Predictably, he shudders a little, tries to hide it by wrapping a leg over Nursey’s thigh. “Then that’s what I’m gonna do. Hockey, you’re Dex. Here, you’re Will.”

That makes it sound like he isn’t expecting this to just be a one-night thing, and he has to take a deep breath before he can say anything in a solid voice.

“Okay,” he says, swallowing. “Derek.”

He smiles, and then they both forget about words for a little while, messing up the neat sheets as they roll around and each half-heartedly try to get the upper hand. Derek wins briefly, trapping Will underneath him, and as a tremendous consolation prize, Will spans Derek’s back with his hands, trying to memorize the broad, strong lines of muscle and smooth skin. His impulse is to be greedy, to take what he can, and he tries to remind himself that this probably won’t be the only time, that he doesn’t have to do everything right this second.

Their shorts come off somewhere, and Derek slides off onto his side, tugging Will over so that their chests are pressed together. He’s hard, Will can feel the warm bulge against his stomach through two layers of cotton, and it’s making him a little crazy.

“Do you have lube?” Derek asks, fitting the words in between kisses.

Will nods. “Yeah.” He sucks on Derek’s lower lip for a second before he shifts back. “Drawer, behind you.”

Derek promptly flips around, cursing when he gets tangled in the sheets. Will laughs, then sharply cuts himself off as he grips Derek shoulder to hold him down.

“Holy shit, you have a tattoo.”

“I have three.”

Will’s eyes snap to the one on his arm, the one he’s noticed before. “Where’s the other one?”

“You’ll have to find it,” he says smugly, and Will groans, rolling his eyes.

“That’s such a _line_ , oh my god.”

“It worked though, didn’t it? Now you’re curious.”

Derek tries to move, but Will keeps him down with one hand while the other traces the delicate lines that curve around his ribs. “This one first. What is it?” He cuts Derek off before he can chirp. “I mean, I _know_ it’s a tree. Obviously.”

“It’s a black cherry tree,” Derek says, his head twisted to look at Will over his shoulder. “The most common tree in Central Park. Reminds me of home, of my roots.”

“Poetic,” Will says, and Derek laughs, dislodging him so that he can stretch farther and reach the nightstand. He rifles through the drawer for the lube, firing the little bottle at Will’s forehead when he finds it.

“Just testing your reaction time,” he says, and Will’s laughing as he straddles Derek’s thighs, flicking the cap open with one hand while the other tugs at his black briefs. He really wants nothing more than to just go to town and get Derek’s dick in his mouth, but that would involve a whole discussion of condoms and tests and stuff that he’s not really equipped to handle right now. He’s not even sure he _has_ any condoms.

He slides the waistband down about three inches before his eyes catch on a line of text scrawled across Derek’s hip. Will tilts his head, peering closer. “It looks pretty, and I’d butcher it trying to pronounce it,” he admits, and Derek laughs.

“ _Así te amo porque no sé amar de otra manera_ ,” he recites. “It’s a line from a Neruda poem.”

“Fancy.” Will presses his thumb curiously against the inked skin. “What does it mean?”

“There are various translations, but basically, it’s ‘I love you like this because I know no other way to love.’”

He repeats it in his head. “And why that line?”

“Well, in general, it helps me remember that there are other things in life other than hockey and that I’m more than just hockey,” Derek starts. “It also reminds me to be myself, that not everyone can handle me and that’s okay. Make good choices in love, basically.”

Will swallows down some _really_ sappy things he wants to say in response to that. “Interesting.”

“What about you, no tattoos?”

He shrugs. “I’m not against them or anything, but I haven’t thought of anything that I’d want to have on my body forever.”

“ _I_ wanna be on your body,” he says, grinning, and Will rolls his eyes.

“That is terrible.”

“And yet here you are, reluctantly charmed.”

“No,” he lies, and Derek’s grin widens.

“You have a tell when you lie.”

“How could you _possibly_ know that?”

“I pay attention. Kind of a lot. To you, in particular.”

Will can’t _not_ kiss him, not after he says something like that, so he lunges up, blindly searching for his lips. Derek’s hands slide into his hair, holding him in place, and Will tries to pour everything into the kiss, everything he’s feeling but isn’t good enough at saying.

He eventually remembers his original intention and worms his hand into Derek’s briefs, curling carefully around his dick. Derek cries out, accidentally biting Will’s lip in the process. “Fuck, sorry,” he says, gasping again when Will squeezes.

“S’ok.” He licks at the sore spot and sucks on it for a second. “Shoulda figured there’d be injuries involved with you.”

“You’re the fighter here,” Derek shoots back.

“Hey, I’m a lover, not a fighter.” He barely manages to keep a straight face as he gets the words out, and Derek groans. Will can’t really tell if it’s because of his cheesy words of what his hand’s doing, but he doesn’t really care. He’s never laughed so much while having sex, and he’s a little bit afraid that he’s ruined for it.

The lube makes his hand slide so slick and easy, and Derek tangles their legs together as he thrusts up into the grip. “If you could, uh, not take this as a general display of my— _fuck_ , keep doing that—of my stamina, that would be great.”

“I’m just disappointed that you’re still using complete sentences,” Will says. “Honestly.”

“Yeah, and what about you, Mr. Eloquent?”

“Well, I’m not exactly—”

“Wait, is that a challenge? That sounded like a challenge.”

He doesn’t even get to say anything in response before Derek’s moving, rearranging both of them so that he’s spooning Will, his bottom arm tucked under his neck and curled around his chest. Derek finds the lube in the rumpled sheets, judging by the snick of the cap, and then his hand is on him. His hand is big, with broad fingers and interesting calluses that are different than Will’s own, and he swears he can _feel_ Derek’s eyes sweeping down his body.

He feels splayed out, on display for Derek’s gaze, and the thought makes his cheeks heat. “Fuck,” he manages. Derek is taking exactly no mercy, his hand sliding quick and hot, and soon enough Will barely remembers what words _are_. “I—”

“You what?” Derek asks, right against Will’s ear, the grin evident in his voice. He bites down, sucking a little, and Will comes with exactly no warning, his mouth hanging open in a way that’s surely unattractive as he arches and shudders and spills all over Derek’s hand. The familiar rush of heat floods his body, but the hammering in his chest is new, as is the roar of white noise in his head.

“God, you’re hot,” Derek mumbles, pressing messy kisses down his neck, and Will’s brain is way too scrambled at the moment to come up with a response. Or do anything, apparently, except flop onto his stomach like a beached whale. He desperately wants to reciprocate, but he’s going to need a minute or ten before he’s capable of doing anything that requires even the bare minimum of coordination.

“I…just gimme a s—”

Derek shushes him, rubbing a hand down the over-sensitized skin on his ribs and making him shiver all over again. “It’s okay, just—just stay there, like that.”

Most of Derek’s body weight lands on Will’s back, punching the breath out of him, but he quickly forgets about the discomfort when he registers the warm, sticky press of Derek’s dick sliding against the curve of his ass.

“This okay?” he gets out, and Will nods, his mouth too dry to talk. He swallows, wets his lips.

“Yeah,” he rasps. “Fuck.”

Will tips his forehead against the pillow and breathes in the familiar scent, the fabric already tinged with the sharp note of Derek’s cologne. Derek’s weight is braced on one elbow, and Will uses the extent of his energy to reach up and tangle their fingers together tight. Derek squeezes back gratefully.

His other hand roams restlessly over Will’s shoulders until it lands on his hip, gripping and bracing. Will brings a knee up, to keep his over-sensitive dick from rubbing against the sheets, and it gives him the added benefit of more leverage to rock back against Derek.

Just a few more thrusts, with the head of Derek’s dick bumping occasionally against the small of his back, then Will feels the rush of come on his lower back and flushes. Derek’s fairly quiet when he comes, just a harsh little grunt before he promptly collapses, nearly knocking the breath out of Will for the second time in five minutes.

He’s going to be uncomfortably sticky in a few minutes, but that’s Future Will’s problem. Current Will is happy to float with his eyes closed, Derek huffing gentle breaths near his ear.

“I like your apartment,” Derek says after several minutes, the words mostly mashed against Will’s shoulder. “Think I’ll just move in. Mostly so I never have to leave this bed.”

“I’ll make you pay rent.”

Derek makes an adorable little _pfftt_ noise. “You can afford it.”

“So can you,” he retorts. “And you’ll have to make the bed.”

“I’d make the bed for you.”

He couples the words with a gentle squeeze to Will’s hip, and well, to him that sounds an awful lot like love.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [leslieknopeismyshiningstar](http://leslieknopeismyshiningstar.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr!


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